And Now Judge


Left oblique injury. From SWINGING THE BAT AT THE PLATE.

Gee, good thing he doesn’t have to do that every game, huh?

He’s off to an MRI, and then to the injured list, along with practically the rest of the starting lineup.

And just to reassure us that this crap will continue, the Yankee announcers kept pushing their PR BS on how the Yankee Organization and the Steinbrenners would most CERTAINLY make sure the training regimens were state-of-the-art top-of-the-line bla bla bla so on and so forth.

Yeah, guys. It’s just bad luck. Bad luck over and over and over again with every player in the roster. Injuries resulting not from collisions or running into the wall, or getting beaned on a bone, but from SWINGING THE BAT, RUNNING INTO BASES or PITCHING BASEBALLS.


Oh, and Aaron Boone still sucks as manager and also ought to be fired. The Red Sox being worse doesn’t excuse him either.

Ah yes, the Steinbrenners and the vaunted Yankee organization… they’d NEVER spend their enormous amounts of money on garbage would they? That certainly never happened with any of several dozen free agents over the years, huh?

Here’s a story: My dad had a longtime friend who made decent dough, and spent a lot of it on a spiffy new Jaguar luxury car. I certainly never got to see this car and I’m not sure my dad ever did either, since it was ALWAYS in the shop for repairs.

You know what you do when you have money and get stuck with a car like that, despite it’s impressive brand?




Happy Passover!

Where’s yer false God NOW, Rameses??


Your stupid first born was a brat anyway. Have some gefilte fish, it’ll cheer you up before Anne Baxter cheats on you with the stable boy.

BTW, the annual showing of the Jewish Wizard Of Oz is this Saturday at 7 on ABC!

So let it be written, so let it be done.

Friday Art: Untitled (Landscape) by Ernest Lawson @1915

Lawson was a Canadian-American post-impressionist who was an on and off member of “The Eight,” a group of painters who rebelled against the stodgy National Academy of Design who most often rejected their work. Lawson painted beautiful landscapes and cityscapes. He had some success and had work sought by collectors in the early 20th century before he faded behind other better known artists like Steiglitz and O’Keefe as tastes moved more towards that direction.

His landscapes are beautiful though. I love this path-through-the-woods one since the colors he uses all seem to fit together as naturally as the color palette of actual woods. The thickness of the tree grove and absence of horizon or view beyond the woods gives you the sense of being totally immersed in the forest, but not in a scary Blair Witch sort of way – the path on the right looks pleasant, inviting you to explore. Those blacks Lawson puts in for the darkness defining the thickness in the distance reflected in the pond along the left, provide a sort of mystical boundary.

I have very vivid dreams. When I dream about being in the woods or out in the country, it looks a lot like this. Trees, green, darkness and paths everywhere – and nothing else in sight. Not scary or imprisoning… simply a ‘scape seeming like the entirety of the universe, inviting you to explore it, even if it might all be the same sort of thing as you follow that path, only slightly different as you walk along. I always wake up from such dreams thinking about how reality is boring by comparison.

So as long as I’m awake, I’ll get lost in Lawson’s painting.

The New York Yankees Need Fixing Fast

And the doctor is in.

The Yankees, projected by many & hoped by me to win the AL East and beyond this year, have begun the 2019 season in a seemingly permanent state of suck.

They’ve been lucky (so far) that the Red Sox have followed suit, although today’s first 2019 match-up between the two makes me think that the Yankees will do their damndest to help the Sox out of their slump and send them off to the races after Tampa Bay. The Yankees’ problems boil down to two major categories: (1) Injuries and (2) Lackluster play.

Let’s start with (1) – since the end of spring break, the Yankees have lost to injuries: their #1 starting pitcher and Cy Young candidate Severino, #1 set-up reliever Bettances, starting center fielder Hicks, starting right fielder/DH MVP Stanton, the ENTIRE INFIELD of Sanchez, Tulowitzki, Gregorius, Andujar and now Bird. We fans get BS reports of 10 day injured list when the problems are clearly months long if not season ending.

Or in the case of Greg Bird’s torn left plantar fascia, possibly career ending. I recently wrote about the plantar fasciitis in my right foot. I just inflamed mine and I can barely walk on it late in the day. Bird tore that ligament in his left?? I’m sorry, but I think the poor guy might be done, and he was one of the players that often had me screaming at the TV for category (2) above.

Andujar rips a labrum in his shoulder sliding into 3rd? Most likely surgery and a season ender. A calf strain takes out Sanchez, a biceps strain takes out Stanton, lat strains have messed up Severino….


Continue reading “The New York Yankees Need Fixing Fast”

Friday Art: Movies, Five Cents by John Sloan (1907)

I’ve posted Sloan before and will again since I’m a big fan of the Ashcan School material. Even if much of it centers around city life in New York where I’ve never lived, everyday modern city life is, well, everyday modern city life everywhere, really. So I always like seeing the simple scenes of everyday people livin’ the life.

And what a tiny movie theater Sloan shows us here – such a small, cramped space with that hint of a wall and lowering ceiling in the upper left – but that’s the way it was in 1907, barely out of the nickelodeon era, right around the time DeMille and others began filming in Hollywood and not New Jersey. In 1907, no American knew who Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton or even who DW Griffith was yet. It was all in its infancy, usually depicting plain and boring domestic dramas, hints of which Sloan gives us on that black and white screen.

Our audience is prety well dressed, racially mixed, and unlike modern audiences, not texting on their damn smartphones. They’re all fixated on the screen, except for the center figure looking right at us, as if we’re the ones coming down the aisle with the popcorn to sit next to her.

And if movies were five cents again, maybe I’d go more often.

March Madness, April Yelling At My TV

Evidently I would have notched an early win in my bracket pool had Auburn defeated Virginia, so that non-call on the double dribble and the (admittedly justified) call on the 3 point foul now have me in the position of needing Michigan State to win the whole thing Monday night.

They also had me in the position of screaming obscenities at my TV, but I think my TV is used to that now after the last few Yankee games. I’m sure it forgives me and understands its patient and therapeutic role in what outsiders might view as an abusive relationship, but one my TV understands as monogamous devoted love.

Sorry, Texas Tech, gotta root for Sparty right now! Big money at stake!

The pic is for me downing red wine in advance of dinner. That will ease my annoyance at learning the basketball rule book the same time as the refs.

UPDATE: Well, I might be drinking the rest of that bottle of wine. Along with maybe the rest of the alcohol in the house. It’s Texas Tech v. Virginia on Monday, and my bracket is as dead as a Star Trek red shirt. Bah.

Friday Art: The Foot Operation by Pieter Quast (1647)

Quast painted mostly simple scenes of peasant life, like a lot of his Dutch Golden Age contemporaries. He loved the browns ‘n’ warm red shades that Rembrandt really went to town with during his later period, only Quast usually set his figures apart with some brighter colors, like our foot patient at the center of this work, who gets to wear a brightly blue-green colored outfit, even if he really needs to do his laundry at some point.

So for the past few weeks, I’ve had some bad and annoying heel pain in my right foot, either a case of plantar fasciitis or tendonitis in either my achilles or the peroneal tendons, or both of ’em. I probably got it from wearing worn out sneakers too often. I’m leaning towards the achillies/peroneal diagnosis as opposed to the plantar one since my pain tends to increase later in the day, when plantar fasciitis is supposed to be at its worst when you wake up in the morning.

But the treatment is the same – stretches interspersed with rest, ibuprofin, and new sneakers with some over-the-counter Dr. Scholl heel pain orthotics inserted. And for the most part, the treatment is working, albeit slowly. Evidently this can take MONTHS to fully heal. Ugh.

But maybe I ought to feel lucky – I can fix my problem for a few bucks in new shoes & foam pads & pills – the poor schlep in Quast’s painting gets surgery without any anesthesia except for what might be in one of those bottles sitting around. The clinic looks about as clean and sterile as a frat house bathroom. And if you really want to know what this surgeon’s track record is, that skull sitting not-so-subtle like as a bookmark tells us that his Tulipomania-era WebMD page would rate him several notches below Frank Burns and only slightly above Jack The Ripper.

Maybe not – maybe the patient only has a splinter needing removal. Maybe it wasn’t as serious as whatever his Don’t-worry-I’ll-be-holding-your-hand, surgeon-referring friend with the walking stick had done to him by our good doctor that got him that swell walking stick. And he’s still standing. His beard is still standing. We can see one of his feet, anyway. We can hope the other one is all there. Our patient is even able to stand with his weight on one leg as he puts his problem foot up on the podium. And the doc looks like a Rabbi. Maybe he’ll throw in a circumcision for free.

I’m gonna go rest my foot. I’ll tell everyone my pain is from kicking too much ass and see if they buy it.

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